


Ex Cathedra

by haztobegood



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Catholicism, Crisis of Faith, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Homophobia, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Please read the Author's Note, Self-Harm
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-12-30 01:50:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,435
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18305738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haztobegood/pseuds/haztobegood
Summary: Harry nodded. “Yeah, but if the Church doesn’t accept me, how am I supposed to worship God?”“Remember what Father Paul said?” Louis asked. “He said that while the church is a building where we gather to worship, your faith is your Church and no one can take that away from you. And besides, we do have a church.”Written for Prompt #127: The misgiving that the Catholic Church might turn out to be right about everything after all.





	Ex Cathedra

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was written as part of an ongoing challenge. We each select random numbers and are given a specific emotion from the book 1000 Feelings For Which There Are No Names. To read the other fics written in this challenge, [click here](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/ShortFic_Challenge_For_Which_There_Is_No_Name/works), or you can find the masterpost on tumblr [here](http://lululawrence.tumblr.com/post/159679804243/1000-feelings-for-which-there-are-no-names-prompt).
> 
>  **#127 The misgiving that the Catholic Church might turn out to be right about everything after all.**
> 
> When I first received this prompt, the story was going to be completely different. But as I was researching about the Catholic religion and the Church’s views on homosexuality, I discovered that there is a whole community of Catholics that choose to maintain and grow their faith, despite the teachings of the Church. I started to write a fic that could examine the challenges of believing in one’s faith when it disagrees with the teachings. And most importantly, I wanted this fic to end with a message of faith, hope, and love.
> 
> With that being said, this fic does deal with some very heavy topics. There is internalized homophobia, a panic attack, and instances of self injury. If any of this may be triggering for you, please be careful while reading this or skip this fic entirely. If you have any questions about this fic or the tags, please message me on tumblr [@haztobegood](http://haztobegood.tumblr.com/). 
> 
> _Resources:_  
> [Trevor Project - Self Injury Resources](http://www.thetrevorproject.org/trvr_support_center/self-injury/#sm.0000znw09yv25feztpd2n0es6y416)  
> TrevorLifeLine: 1-866-488-7386  
> [Cornell University - Self Injury Resources](http://www.selfinjury.bctr.cornell.edu/resources.html)  
> [Calm Harm App](http://calmharm.co.uk/)  
> National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 1-800-273-8255

The yellow stripes in the center of the road passed by, a never-ending ellipses to mark the silence in the car as Harry rushed away from his childhood hometown. A patchwork of plowed fields stretched in every direction in a monotonous landscape. Solid gray clouds blocked out any sunshine that attempted to break through the cloud cover and held the promise of impending rain. It fit Harry’s mood, as he tried to block out negative thoughts that were rolling through his mind. 

The landscape gradually shifted from wide swatches of farmland to towering segments of forests. The trees cut off the view of the horizon and closed in around the narrowing road as the forests grew denser. He’d foolishly thought that adding distance between himself and his family would dissipate the sludge of negativity that had been drowning him. But the quietness and time spent alone only caused the sludge to creep up further and it pulled him fully under. 

He tried to numb his mind, driving the familiar route on autopilot. His thoughts began to swirl, beating like angry waves at the shores of his mind. Swells of insecurities clouded his logic. The static of other’s opinions drowned out any positive thoughts he tried to bring forth until a white noise of despair was all the remained. 

A single tear rolled down his cheek, itching as it left a salty trail and dripped off the tip of his nose. There were more tears dammed by the rims of his eyes, waiting for permission to fall. As he wiped at the wetness, his throat tightened around a lump of mixed emotion, warm and obtrusive, making it uncomfortable to breathe. 

The past weekend had been difficult, as it always was when Harry returned home. Ever since he had come out to his parents during his first semester of university, their relationship had become very strained and he tried to limit how often he visited. However, Harry’s father had required that he come home for the weekend as his aunt and uncle had flown in and the whole family was getting together. The presence of his extended family, even more conservative than his parents, had complicated matters further. Flashes from the past two days attacked his consciousness. 

His aunt had pinched at his cheeks as she asked if he’d found a potential wife yet. A spoon had clinked against a coffee mug as his mother turned away at the mention of his boyfriend. His finger had traced a flower on the outdated mauve sofa cushion as his uncle commented about how he should have grown out of this ‘phase’ by now. Rows of houses had passed by on the drive to church as his father scolded him for wearing a tie with pink stripes. His skin had crawled as the priest offered the congregation a stern warning about temptation and sin.

The memories cut through his composure like daggers. He tried to hold everything back, but the tears blurred his vision like a breath fogged against a mirror. He blinked, pushing the tears over the edge. He slowed the car and pulled over. The shoulder was barely wide enough for his small car. Despite the lack of traffic, he turned on the flashers. 

The current of opinions and memories boiled over and he pounded his fists against the steering wheel. He screamed, the course cry tearing out of his throat. The dam burst and the tears started to flow unrestrained.

He sat sobbing for an indeterminate amount of time. Long enough that the heavy clouds finally opened up. Long enough that the light sprinkling of rain increased to a heavy shower. The pitter patter of raindrops on the metal roof competed to be heard above Harry’s hiccupping sobs. A distant crash of thunder shook through the car. The unexpected noise broke through his swirling emotions. He lifted his face from his hands into his hands and swiped angrily at his damp cheeks. 

Shame settled at the edges of his consciousness as his reality comes back into focus. He had let his emotions rage so far out of his control. He shouldn’t have let his family affect him so much. The shame and betrayal crashed over him. He dropped his head, his fists pounded at his temples, as he berated himself for his weakness. He dug his fingers into his hair, scratching angrily at his scalp. 

He’d let his family seep through the cracks. They’d eroded his defenses and broken down everything he’d worked on since moving away. Two years of being out, two years of loving Louis, and it had only taken them two days to make Harry question everything. How could he have been so weak?

Another snap of thunder, sounding closer than before, brought Harry back from his thoughts. It took a moment to ground himself. His anxiety receded slowly as he forced himself to focus on his surroundings. A numbness settled over him like a dense fog rolling across a village. He found some scratchy drive thru napkins to wipe his cheeks and blow his nose. With shaking hands he shifted the car into drive and pulled back onto the road.

* * *

Forty-five minutes later he mechanically walked up the stairs to his empty apartment. He was unable to recall most of his drive. The familiar route and the routine motions of driving allowed for him to find his way back without much effort. He flicked on the lights, dropped his overnight bag on the floor, and kicked off his shoes. Then he was immersed in the overwhelming quiet of his apartment.

He was supposed to have called his boyfriend when he left his parents’ house, so that Louis would be at his apartment when he returned. But from the stress of the past weekend, he’d never picked up his phone. It laid forgotten at the bottom of his bag. The battery was long dead and any notifications were left unread. He’d not bothered to look at it, as it would remind him of what, or more like whom, he was missing for the weekend. 

There was no point in trying to reach him now. Louis wouldn’t want to deal with Harry’s never-ending list of anxieties. Louis was so sure of his feelings and beliefs. Compared to him, Harry felt inadequate, with his wavering faith and questioning conscience. Louis had helped him through so much, yet Harry still doubted their relationship and questioned God. Clearly, he didn’t deserve Louis’ support or love.

Harry’s breathing was shallow and uncertain, as if his mind had forgotten the importance of oxygen. A tightness clutched at his throat. His eyes stung of dryness and his limbs felt heavy. A swarm of bees had taken up residence under his skin. He felt fragile, stretched too thin by the earlier outburst. He was neither hungry nor thirsty, just exhausted. 

His hands shook as he began to prepare a mug of tea, just for the sake of something to do. He hoped going through the motions of the routine task would settle the anxiety shredding his stomach. He retrieved a bag of chamomile tea then reached for his favorite mug. He’d found it while wandering a thrift store with Louis when neither had wanted to part after their third date. It was a basic ceramic mug, white with a rainbow arched across the side. He stood on his tiptoes to get the mug off the top shelf. It slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor. It shattered. Bits of the broken rainbow mug were strewn across the kitchen floor.

Harry crumpled to his knees, away from the shards. He curled into himself, leaning back and hugging his knees to his chest tightly. The handles of the cupboard door dug into his back uncomfortably. His mind unraveled, scattering like the pieces of the shattered mug. 

The sobs returned in full force. He grabbed at the bottom hem of his shirt to wipe away the dampness at his cheeks, but it was futile. The tears were constant. He had no energy to reign it all in. Thoughts coursed through his mind. Reflexively, he pinched the skin of his forearm between his forefinger and thumb. The nail bit sharply at the skin. The white-hot pain alerted him to his action and he recognized instantly what he’d done. He chastised himself for this relapse into a harmful habit, one he’d battled with for years. Berating thoughts flooded in, adding to the pool of vitriol. 

The devastation engulfed him. His chest heaved with the effort of filling his lungs between choked out sobs. He fought for control of his sobbing, but it was futile. Each shallow breath reminded him of another instance where he could do better, each tear rolling down his cheek reminded him of one of his insecurities. His blunt fingernails scratched slowly down his left arm. Four angry pink lines appeared in their wake and not long after the tepid pain registered. The sensation was sedating his mind. His nails scratched again, the parallel marks added up. He focused on the ache of his skin. Each scrape of his nails pacified him a little bit more. 

The frantic despair ebbed bit by bit, replaced by the heavy lull that comes with emotional exhaustion. His body ached and his throat was sore. His head was pounding. A mixture of tears and snot covering his face and shirt. He felt wrung out and foul. As he sat up, his arm came into focus, making visible the damage of his unconscious habit. The pink lines glared angrily at him, taunting his failure at composure and his lack of control. A new wave of devastation upset his tamed emotions. 

A sharp panic overwhelmed him. His breathing restricted to short bursts. His vision narrowed, graying at the edges. His hearing became fuzzy, save for the faint ticking of a clock. It was as if he’d been stuffed into a small tunnel. The panic intensified, surrounding him is a sense-less gray fog. Tick tick tick tick. He focused on the constant pattern of ticking. Tick tick tick. 

His peripheral vision was dark and unfocused, but as he looked ahead, his sight focused on the handle of his favorite mug. Despite Harry’s clumsiness, the handle was unbroken. He stared blankly. The clock continued to tick, a soundtrack to the minutes as he stared at the handle of the mug. An irrational sadness filled his chest. Tick. The destruction of the mug rendered the unbroken handle useless. Tick. Without a mug to hold, the handle had lost its only purpose. Tick. Tick.

Sometime later the tick tick tick of the clock was interrupted. A distant voice broke the constant rhythm of the ticking that Harry had focused on. The voice got closer. Harry could tell it was someone saying his name, but his mind felt too heavy to respond.

A gentle touch on his arm startled him. He looked up from where his eyes were stuck on the handle. Harry blinked and Louis’ familiar face came into focus. Louis wiped his thumb gently at the tear tracks on Harry’s cheeks. 

“Oh Harry.” His voice sounded uneasy and timid. Like he was trying to approach a feral kitten. 

The thought of Louis being scared of him, or worse, pitying him, sent Harry into another fit of hysterics and he started sobbing again. Louis pulled him into a hug. But Harry pushed at his chest, resisting the unearned comfort and returning to his curled position on the floor. 

In an attempt to trap his embarrassing sobs from escaping, Harry clamped his teeth on his forearm. The bruising pressure on the meat of his arm muffled the first sounds. But it was not enough and the sound burst out. He released his bite and wiped angrily at the slickness of the saliva left behind. Ashamed at the crescent bruises left behind in a moment of weakness, he dropped his face in his arms, burying tighter into himself.

Louis held him closer and grabbed his hand, rubbing his thumb soothingly across the back of Harry’s hand. A wave of shame enveloped Harry. Louis had certainly seen the marks on his arms. He tried to pull back, retracting his hand from Louis’ touch. “It’s okay, Harry.” Louis gently coaxed. Louis released his hand and instead, his solid palm settled on his back. He rubbed warm, comforting circles over his back and whispered palliative sentiments to Harry. “It’s okay, Haz. It’s gonna be alright, love. C’mon, can you breathe with me?”

Louis again coaxed Harry to free his arm from his side. And this time he let Louis take his hand. He placed Harry’s open palm on his chest, holding it with his own, and encouraged him to breathe with him. Harry battled against the current of his panic attack. But he was no longer alone. His breath steadied as he followed the rise and fall of Louis’ chest against his palm. His sobs quieted, his hiccupping settled to smaller whimpers, until there was nothing left in him to cry out.

Harry leaned into Louis, seeking the solace of Louis’ arms. He leaned his head on Louis’ chest. Harry listened to the words of comfort and gentle sentiments, peppered with Louis’ many terms of endearment. As Louis’ words faded out, he picked up on the faint thud of his heartbeat, an echo to the clock ticking. 

A tense silence surrounded Harry. He kept all the words he needed to say buried. The insecurities festering in his mind argued that Louis would be disappointed if he knew how much Harry doubted himself and their relationship. 

“Do you want to move to the couch? You’ll be more comfortable.” Louis rubbed his arm gently as he spoke. Harry nodded. “Up you go.” Harry slowly rearranged his limbs, joints stiff from sitting in one position for so long. Louis held out a hand to pull him up from the floor. Harry shuffled over to the couch and sank onto the middle cushion. He sat upright, feet flat on the floor and back straight. Louis hadn’t followed him. He glanced back at the kitchen. Louis was filling the kettle with water.

“I’ll be there in a minute. Do you want some tea?” 

“Please.” Harry said. He sat with his hands in his lap, twisting the ring on his finger as he waited for Louis to return. He listened in on the sounds of Louis in the kitchen. The tap running. the kettle coming to a boil. A cabinet door closing. A spoon stirring the tea. Louis humming softly. It was so familiar and domestic. 

Louis handed a steaming mug to Harry and sat next to him, thighs pressed against each other. Harry took a sip of the tea and set it on a coaster on the coffee table before leaning back into Louis’ chest. Louis’ free arm snaked around his middle, holding him close. Harry tucked his head against his shoulder and closed his eyes. 

He took a minute to compose his thoughts and decide on how best to start this conversation. He knew well enough that Louis would not let him off the hook without talking about this situation, but also knew that Louis would be patient and give Harry time if he needed. But there was no point in putting off the discussion. Harry just wanted to get it over with so that he could go to sleep and forget about the weekend and it’s dreadful conclusion.

Louis leaned over to set his tea down on the end table, jostling Harry’s position for a brief moment. Then they settled back into each other. Harry pulled his legs up to his side, curling closer into Louis. Louis grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over both of their laps. Louis’ hand found Harry’s curls. Harry always loved when Louis would run his fingers through his hair and massage his scalp. It lulled him into a sense of calm that he’d missed since he’d left earlier that weekend. 

Harry sighed and began telling Louis what had happened. “This weekend was rough, but I managed to hold it together the whole two days I was there.” He didn’t spend too much time thinking about what he was trying to say. Louis was the best at listening to him slowly amble through his stories and go off on countless tangents. Louis held him tightly and played with his hair as Harry vented his frustrations about spending time with his family and going back to his childhood church. 

“But, then… Then I was alone in my car and I just… I couldn’t take it anymore and...and,” Harry sniffled, a lump forming in the back of his throat as he recalled the beginning of his breakdown.

“Oh darling,” Louis said. “Why didn’t you call me?” 

“It hurt too much to think about talking to you when I had to be there, but then my phone died and I didn’t have my charger. I’m sorry.” 

“Hey, hey, none of that. You’ve nothing to be sorry about.” Louis hugged him tighter and placed a kiss on the top of his head. 

Harry continued, “I cried it all out in the car. Or so I thought. But when I got home and tried to make some tea, I broke our m-mug.”

“Haz, it’s just a mug. We can get another.”

“But it was our mug.” Harry whispered. “We found it together. And I broke it. I’m clumsy, and stupid, and just not as good as you.” 

“Wait, slow down.” Louis turned his body abruptly to face Harry, concern furrowing his brow. “Where is this coming from? You’re not less than me. Harry, you’re so important and kind and- ”

“But I keep questioning everything! You have it all figured out and are so sure of yourself and who you love. And you’re great and wonderful. And your family accepts you. But just one weekend at home and I can’t make sense of anything. I don’t know if it’s okay to be gay or if my mother will ever hug me again. My father can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. And then the priest said that I’d be doomed and even God wouldn’t want to put up with me. You’ve already accepted yourself, your family has already accepted you. And you shouldn’t have to deal with all this just for me. I don’t know why you put up with me.”

“No, no. Hey, love, you know that’s not true. It’s okay to feel what you are feeling. I could never be mad at you for feeling that way. You’d never disappoint me for questioning our relationship this way, because I understand. I’ve had a few more years, and a few more relationships to work out my feelings and I know it takes time. I don’t expect you to just forget everything and be perfect overnight. Don’t try to rush yourself. It takes time. And I’m willing to wait however long it takes for you. I’m very patient, at least when it comes to you.” 

Louis readjusted his position and pulled Harry across his lap, cradled in Louis’ embrace.  
Harry laid his head on Louis’ shoulder and pulled the blanket tighter around them. “Remember that Corinthians verse you always quote? Love is patient, love is kind. But you’ve got to be patient and kind to yourself too.” Harry grabbed Louis’ hand and traced shapes on his palm as he thought over the verse.

“Okay,” Harry said meekly. Louis kissed his cheek softly. He stayed quiet, thinking about Louis’ words as he idly played with Louis’ fingers. He wanted Louis’ words to be true, for his advice to be enough, but they were battling against an entire childhood of indoctrination, from Sunday School lessons to Teen bible study. Snippets of old conversations kept popping up through the cracks. 

“But what if they’re right? What if my family is right? What if the Church is right and the bible does really mean all of that? What if my-” 

Louis cut him off, “Remember back a few weeks to that bible study lesson when we discussed Pope Francis and his changing views of LGBT community?” Louis turned Harry’s hand in his, rubbing light circles against the back of his hand as he spoke. “How we discussed that keeping our faith and believing in God will always be more powerful than what a distant relative thinks or what some old priest in a country church says.”

Harry nodded, recalling the discussion that Father Paul had led. “Yeah but if the Church doesn’t accept me, how am I supposed to worship God?”

“Remember what Father Paul said? He said that while the church is a building where we gather to worship, your faith is your Church and no one can take that away from you. And besides, we do have a church. You’ve worked so hard with Father Paul and our bible study group to accept yourself. You have taken time to come to terms with your sexuality. You’ve grown so much in the past two years and I am so proud of you.” Louis pulled him in tighter, squeezing his arm around Harry’s middle. “And I love you.” He kissed his lips tenderly.

“I love you too,” The end of his statement was stretched out by an unexpected yawn. He covered his open mouth and scrunched his face, trying to quell the yawn. Louis laughed softly at Harry, the familiarity of the situation warming his heart. Back when they still lived in the dorms during their first year, Harry always stayed up despite his exhaustion just to talk to Louis longer. Not wanting sleep to interrupt their late night conversations. Louis pat his leg. “Think that’s our cue to head to bed.” Harry stood and folded the blanket they’d been sharing. 

“You’re staying?” Harry asked timidly as he draped the folded blanket over the back before he headed down the hall to his bedroom, Louis following behind.

“Of course I’m staying over. I missed you this weekend.” Louis wrapped his arms around Harry’s torso from the back as they walked down the hall to the bedroom.” “I need my cuddles.”

* * *

The booming voice of Father Paul carried over the sound system as he commanded the congregation to rise after the prayer. Harry rose from his position on the velvet kneeler along with the rest of congregation. He listened intently as Father Paul began to deliver the homily. This sunday’s lesson emphasized the power of God’s unconditional love. The gentle cadence of Father Paul’s voice and the kind messages woven throughout eased his mind.

For the first time all weekend, the tension left his shoulders and his body relaxed. He softened into the lesson, taking in the words carefully and turning them around in his mind to examine how this Sunday’s lesson fit better with his beliefs than all the comments and lectures he’d received from his family. 

The service proceeded. Harry found serenity in the predictable order of mass. After the moving homily, they’d gone through the universal prayer with a resounding chorus of “Lord, we ask you, hear our prayer.” They’d recited the Apostle’s creed, the verses reverberating like a pulse throughout the sanctuary. Then came the Eucharist. 

After receiving the body and blood of Christ, Harry returned to his pew and bowed his head. He offered a silent prayer to God and reflected on his faith and his community. He recalled moments from earlier that morning. Each memory soothed his heart like a cool cloth on fevered skin. 

Harry’s best friend, Niall, had hugged him when they’d met up in the narthex. Louis’ best friend, Zayn, and his fiancé, Liam, had confirmed that he and Louis would make it to their monthly game night. Lucy, a toddler he’d babysat on occasion, had giggled and waved at him shyly from behind her mother’s legs. Louis had held his hand as the service began. Father Paul had just delivered a homily about how God’s unconditional love is for all believers. 

Harry blinked back a lone tear and a soft smile spread across his face, a crocus blooming from under the snow. He leaned his head onto Louis’ shoulder and entwined his hand with Louis’. 

As the Eucharist concluded, Father Paul instructed, “We’ll now take a moment to sing our praises to God. Open your hymnals to #240, O Love of God, How Strong and True.” 

The fluttering of tissue thin hymnal pages filled the sanctuary. The first notes rang out from the pipe organ before a hush fell over the parishioners. The melody of the opening swelled and on cue they lifted their voices to join in the worshipful hymn. Harry followed along, his voice strong and sure as he sang the first verse. Hearing the congregation singing their love of God through the hymn was ethereal. Goosebumps raised across Harry’s arms as he listened closer to the lyrics of the hymn.

_O love of God, how deep and great,_  
_far deeper than man's deepest hate;_  
_self-fed, self-kindled like the light,_  
_changeless, eternal, infinite._

_O heav'nly love, how precious still,_  
_in days of weariness and ill,_  
_in nights of pain and helplessness,_  
_to heal, to comfort, and to bless!_

The words resonated through him. He felt the hopeful message of God’s love fill him as he heard all of his fellow church-goers repeat the message of the hymn. Tears welled at the rims of his eyes, not angry tears from the night before, but tears that held the happiness and relief of reaffirming his love of God. 

He glanced up in an attempt to blink them away. A streak of vibrant colors caught his attention. His favorite stained glass window was perfectly illuminated by a beam of the mid morning sunlight. He stared at the intricate mosaic of glass shards that illustrated the biblical imagery, admiring how the multifaceted rainbow and the small lambs glowed. This window was the first thing he had noticed when he found this church two years ago. He always felt as though the little lambs in the patchwork of green fields had welcomed him. 

The final note of the hymn drifted to the high ceiling of the sanctuary. Harry closed his hymnal and glanced up at the window once more. As he watched the shifting light dance through the fragments of colored glass, he smiled softly. It reminded him that he was there with his wonderful boyfriend, an accepting community, and his loving God. He was exactly where he belonged.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! [Here](https://haztobegood.tumblr.com/post/184074645198/haztobegood-ex-cathedra-by-haztobegood) is a rebloggable post for the fic.
> 
> “O Love of God, How Strong and True” written by Horatius Bonar and set to the melody of "Jerusalem" by Hubert Parry. You can hear what this hymn played on pipe organ sounds like [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=UBCRePoBkTk).


End file.
